Born Of Fire
by bleak reality
Summary: The story of Neo's predecessor, Kenneth Jackson. How he realised the truth. (AU)
1. 9th November 2005

__

9 November 2005

I want to be famous. There aren't many people who don't. But I don't just want to be an actor or a rock star; I want to be remembered. I want the name Kenneth Jackson to be a household name, for awed children with open mouths to be told the story of the man who changed the world forever. I want books to be written with me in them, I want to do something so important that they'll name something - a park maybe - after me.

What I'm going to do to change the world, I'm not sure. But I've got plenty of time, right?

This is the first entry in my journal. I won't call it a diary because that makes me think of girls with piggy-tails giggling over BOYS. So this isn't a diary, it's a journal.

And this is my first whiney comment to write; I don't like my name. The guys at school call me 'Ken-doll'.

Wow, that was a short comment. And this is a very short entry.

Kenneth


	2. Starting Out

Fingers search, skin scraping as they move across the surface of the rock wall. There! Her fingers grip the tiny crevice, and muscles give sullen feedback as she pulls herself up and searches for another place to hold on. The straps of her pack dig into her shoulders. Looking up, she sees the air above her is paler. She can actually make out the grey shape of the hand in front of her face.

Almost there.

With a final scramble she hauls her body up over the edge and onto flat stone. Lying on her stomach, she listens. Distantly she can hear _Them_ . . .

She gets slowly to her feet, quiet as anything. Creep forward through the tunnel; pause in the spot where it opens up into the outside. The surface.

Reaching again, she pulls herself up out of the ground. It's freezing. Rapidly cooling sweat makes her shiver, but that will make her heat less noticeable to them. _Their_ sounds are louder now; the clunking and sucking of their claws clamping onto pods and plucking them like ripe grapes.

Straightening slowly, her eyes take in the sight she will never get used to.

Fields. Endless fields. Rows upon rows of stalks, a half dozen pods on each one. Cables and wires run between the plants, connecting the braches of the vine. _They_ move over the human crop, long arms reaching out to gather the harvest. A memorised quote comes to her mind;

"I am the real vine and my Father is the gardener. He breaks off every branch that does not bear fruit, and He prunes each branch that does bear fruit, so that it will be clean and bear more fruit."

__

Their searchlights scan over the ground, sweeping near her but not near enough for danger. The ground here is too rocky for anything to take root and grow.

Fingers curl into useless fists.

She turns her head to look behind her. She can see the glow of the power plant closer to the horizon, see its towers rising like those of a perverse fairytale; the Ivory Tower, the Emerald City.

Otherwise known as Hell.

She has been forbidden to go there. In the plant itself it is less dangerous than the fields, but the journey there is more or less suicide. There is no shelter, no way to dive under the surface like a rabbit if one of _Them_ comes near.

So why is she going there?

Because she has to see the towers for herself. She has to . . . know.

Adjusting the straps of her backpack, Nuala sets out for the horizon.

(For interest's sake, the bible quote is from John 15:1-2)


	3. 13th November 2005

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13 November 2005

Ouch. I think my brain is fried. This morning was my English exam, and I wrote a three and a half page essay. I'm not sure how, or why. It's not like I enjoyed the novel we studied or anything.

Kenneth sits back. He twirls the pen though his fingers, letting the diary slip off his lap onto the bed. He stares at the wall, thinking.

English exam. He's writing in his diary about his English exam. There are people dying and being born and fighting and laughing and crying this very moment, every moment, the world over, and he's sitting here, recording in his diary about how many pages of essay he wrote.

It suddenly all seems so petty. So worthless. So pointless.

He pulls the journal back to him.

__

I want to make something of my life. There has to be more than this. There has to be. I don't want to be famous just for the sake of it; I want to do something to help.

I often get the feeling that the world is not enough. No reason why. My life is peachy, I should be happy with it. But writing three and a half page essays and getting over 95% for every science test isn't what I want the sum total of my life to be. It's not enough. I want more.

He shuts the diary, sighing heavily. He can't put this feeling in words. He feels restless, unsatisfied, and eternally doubtful. As if, as if . . . as if the world isn't real, as if he is floating, a two-dimensional figure in someone else's dream.

"Crazy," he whispers under his breath. "This is crazy."

He looks at the clock, 7:15 on Monday night. He has study to do, but Kenneth is startled to realise that he honestly couldn't give a damn. Usually school is his life.

He gets up slowly, clicking the lock shut on the diary and leaving it on his pillow. The pen he sticks behind his ear.

Aimlessly he wanders through the house. Gets a drink of water in the kitchen. Checks what's on TV in the living room (nothing good). Makes sure the front door is locked. Returns to his room and sits down at his computer. No new mail. No replies to the comments he left at The Noticeboard. Nothing.

Kenneth Jackson sighs again. A song lyric comes to mind.

"Is there something more than what I've been handed?"

He listens for an answer.

No. Nothing.

(Quote from Hoobastank's "Crawling in the Dark")


	4. Doubt

No one ever told her there was such a thing as a dark night. In Zion the lights always shine, constant and unchanging. But on the surface there is no warm golden glow to light her way over the uneven ground, not at this hour. The greyness above her had just, faded, over time, and now it's all gone. The world is black.

Except for the red light of that sick fairytale castle, the Ruby City.

Nuala stumbles again, almost tripping. Dare she risk stopping for the night?

No. _They_ might find her. And that would mean disaster.

Reaching a compromise, she crouches in the dirt, taking a flask of water out of her pack. One sip, just enough to wet her mouth and throat and make her long for more.

No. she can't afford to waste it. Neither can she afford to waste time.

Slowly she stands, ignoring the tingling feeling in the soles of her feet. And the sting of her grazed palms. And the stab in her lower back. And the ache in her neck. And the way her eyes wish to slide shut and stay that way for at least six hours.

No. And again, no.

Instead she fixes her tired eyes on that red light ahead of her, and forces herself to keep going.

__

Why are you doing this? What are you going to do once you get to the plant? Try rescue a human like they once tried to rescue the babies in the pods? You'll fail. They'll_ kill you. You don't even know why they're all in there, do you? You have no idea what _Their_ master plan is. And how can you ever work it out? Give up and go home. This isn't going to work._

She grits her teeth.

__

Oh shut up and get screwed.

Nice comeback Nuala. So very original.

She begins to hum, partly to keep herself awake and partly to muffle the voice of Doubt.

"Got some pictures in my pocket

And a lot of time to kill

Hey sunshine,

I haven't seen you in a long time

Why don't you show your face and bend my mind?"

Keeping her eyes on the ground she can barely see before her, she continues, murmuring the song under her breath. By midmorning tomorrow she will have reached those towers.

And what then?

What then indeed.

(Lyrics from Simon and Garfunkel's "Cloudy")


	5. 20 November 2005

"X equals negative b plus or minus the square root of b squared plus four a c all over two a." The boy looks to Kenneth beside him. "That's it isn't it?"

"Why are you asking me? You're the maths freak."

"Kenneth," a sharp voice from the front of the room. He cringes.

"Yes Miss?"

"I appreciate there are only two weeks left of school but you still have work to do. No talking."

"Yes Miss."

The boy with him in the back row, Simon, grins into his textbook. Kenneth glares and continues his maths work.

~~~

"So, Kenny. We missed you this morning."

He sidesteps to avoid somebody, holding his books close to him. "I was late."

Simon flicks blond hair out of his eyes with another grin. "Should have known. Do anything on the weekend?"

"Jack shit."

"Hmm. You're chatty this fine Monday morn aren't you?"

Ken tries to walk faster but can't shake the other boy off.

"Did you fail an exam or something?"

"We haven't got our results yet, they only finished on Friday."

"I bet you did fail. I bet you well and truly flunked English and now you're ticked off."

Ken stops suddenly, moving in front of Simon. Ken is the taller, with black hair that defies any style and light brown eyes that - right now - flash in anger.

"Simon. Get your head out of the goddamn school sandpit. There is more to life than exams and quizzes and memorising the quadratic formula. We have two weeks and then our compulsory schooling is over. Over. We could be getting out of here and into the real world if we wanted to."

Simon frowns, "You're not leaving are you?"

Ken shakes his head. "You never did get the point."

"What point?" Green eyes return his glare. "What exactly happened to you to make you this much hell to be around?"

He steps back, turns away.

"I don't know. I have no idea."

Simon frowns thoughtfully as he follows his friend down the corridor to their next class.

~~~

"Morning boys."

A chorus of "Good morning sir."

"Seeing we've finished the year's work, we can now study whatever you choose, provided of course it's history."

"The weekend?" someone in the front row quips.

"No Robert, although I'm sure you did enjoy your's," Mr Duke hoists himself up to sit on top of his desk as people catcall and ask Robert how is girlfriend is doing. "Simon, what would you like to study?"

Ken smiles faintly as Simon fidgets. "Umm, last holidays sir?"

There is a ripple of laughter and Mr Duke gives an indulgent smile. "Is there anyone who actually wants to work today?"

"No sir," Simon looks around for support. The other boys grin. "I don't think there is."

Ken rests his head on his folded arms, letting himself relax as Mr Duke gives up and the boys begin to talk amongst themselves. The sleep he missed out on over the last week and weekend creeps up behind him, covering his eyes with shadowy fingers . . .

__

The light through his eyelids is the colour of blood, murky and deep. His breathing is loud, and slow. Warmth all around him, comforting. Relax, relax . . . just sink and float in this dream, float as comfortable and safe as a baby in a womb. Keep your eyes closed so you won't wake up and ruin this feeling of being safe and snug and secure and warm . . . so warm. Ignore the feeling of being underwater. Ignore the touch as if of snakes coiling around and all over you. Ignore the way you want to gag at the long cable that reaches into your mouth and down your throat, providing air to your lungs as you float in this thick warmth that isn't water and feels more like blood flesh bone liquefied and warmed and pumped into around and through you until it suffocates you!

He opens his eyes and jerks upright with a start, breathing fast. Nobody notices but Simon in the back row beside him, always beside him.

"Kenny, you alright?" Simon's voice, concerned and quiet. Kenneth stares ahead of him, filling his eyes with the sight of his classmates, the humdrum _normal_-ness of the classroom. There, Robert talking to Mr Duke about what movie he saw with his girlfriend, Adam next to him making jokes about how it's a surprise Robert saw any of the movie at all. Travis, Matthew, Nick, David, all the normal boring teenage boys he sees every single day.

Normal. Everything's normal. It wasn't real -

__

(oh yes it was)

- it was just a dream -

__

(**this** is a dream Kenneth)

- nothing to be afraid of -

__

(the real world is terrifying. admit it Kenneth, you're terrified now)

"Ken? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine Simon. I'm fine."

~~~

__

20 November 2005

I had the weirdest of daydreams today . . .


	6. Wake Up

Dim greyness shows through the clouds, filtering through the thick air, diluted a thousand times before reaching her. Nuala looks up from the ground, and slows.

She's here. She'd been walking all morning as if asleep on her feet, she had never realised she had come this far.

And now . . . she's here.

She not sure what she expected. Perhaps the towers growing straight out of the very earth, soaring kilometres in the air. But she stands among what look like . . . vines. Black plastic and alloy plants sprout from the ground, leading like the roots of grass along the packed dirt toward the . . . city. It's like a city. Like the picture her mother had showed her, of how people of the past had believed the future would look, crystal towers reaching for the blue sky with bridges, archways, highways spanning between them. So incredibly high that one could live and die up there without ever seeing the ground.

These crystal towers are black, and still distant to her. Closer up, the vines lead into larger and larger tangles, winding around smaller structures that Nuala cannot find words to describe. Gradually, they become bigger and more complex, until they are tall, straight and covered all over in webs and nets of black vines.

She can hear the towers humming. She can see drones moving, crawling and scuttling along the strands of vine between the black crystal stalactites and the smaller gems around them. Black, and shining in the dim grey light.

Slowly, slowly, she begins to walk closer.

__

(what do you plan to do once you get closer?)

She hesitates.

__

(what exactly do you think you're doing here?)

I've got to help - somehow.

__

(how?)

Shut up.

Nuala tries to think. Can she free a human from the power plant? How can she reach the towers, let alone a . . . what do the others call them? Pods. Grapes.

The vines. If those spider-like machines can scuttle up the shiny black cables, surely she can.

Tightening the straps of her back pack, she steps up to the vine beside her.

~~~

Ken sits on the edge of the bunk, glaring at Simon on the bed opposite. The fluorescent light in the ceiling shines a sterile whiteness throughout the school sickbay.

"I told you I was fine."

Simon almost laughs.

"A freaky dream is one thing, passing out and falling down a flight of stairs is another. I don't care how tired you are, you're never like this."

Ken looks away, embarrassed by his friend's concern. His best, and pretty much only, friend.

"You don't have to stay here."

"Would I voluntarily go back to class if I had another option?"

"True."

Awkward silence. Simon turns and lies down on his back, folding arms behind his head.

"Relax Kenny. If you fall asleep you can bludge the rest of the day."

But he doesn't want to fall asleep again. He's scared of what could ensue. He lies down anyway. He and Simon are the best of friends, but they barely know each other any more. Ken can't admit what he fears. He can barely define it himself.

Staring at the ceiling, he tries to think of something to say.

"Simon?" The sickbay door is shut, but still he whispers.

"Hmm?"

"Do you ever wonder if the world isn't real?"

"Umm. No, not really."

"Why not?"

"Why should I wonder? It just leads to headaches."

"Why shouldn't you wonder? There's no proof that this isn't all a dream."

"There's no proof it is."

"Nothing's for certain. The only thing you can know beyond a doubt is the fact that you doubt in the first place."

Glancing across the room, Ken sees a smile flicker over the other boy's face.

"_Cogito, ergo sum_. You've been reading too much of _Sophie's World_."

Ken smiles back.

"At least I've read it."

Silence. He focuses on a flyspot directly above him. Their breathing seems loud in the hush. His breathing. He realises he can't hear Simon. Kenneth's breathing is loud, even. Thick. Think. He knows this sound. He's heard it recently.

__

(the dream)

No! I don't want to dream

__

(ha ha ha)

I don't want to sleep

__

(you're not asleep. this isn't a dream Kenneth. you're beyond that now)

Beyond? No! let me wake up!

__

(this is the most awake you've ever been)

Simon!

__

(he can't hear you. he's not here)

Red murk. He chokes down panic at the tight, cramped feeling of claustrophobia. His eyes are wide open, stinging with the slime getting into them

__

(the blood flesh bone liquefied and warmed and)

His arms are wrapped around his chest, his legs drawn up close to him. He floats in this warm murk

__

(blood)

and tries to allow the machine to breathe for him.

Machine? Where did that come from?

~~~

Higher and higher she climbs, muscles bunching then stretching as she reaches out and up for the next irregularity of the shiny alloy surface. The tangle of cables sway, and sometimes all she can find to grip is her own hand, reaching all the way around and grasping her own fingers in an effort to stay on. How far up she is, Nuala can't say. She doesn't dare look down.

How far until she can reach the vertical side of that tower? Another hundred and fifty meters at least. Hugging the vine, Nuala lays her cheek against it. She thought it would be cold, everything in this world is cold.

But it's warm. And humming, throbbing, like an artery, a vein.

Keep moving. Keep your mind off it. Hum. Venture a few words as you reach out an arm to pull yourself higher, as you grip with your legs to the sides of this

__

(artery)

vine

__

(filled with BLOOD)

made of black alloy

__

(BLOOD!)

it isn't so far now. You've come so far

__

(for NOTHING!)

don't give it up. Keep moving.

"Hey sunshine . . . I haven't seen you in a long time . . . "

__

(will you ever see it Nuala? will you?)

~~~

__

(float. try and relax)

Why?

__

(let your lungs expand with the oxygen you aren't breathing for yourself)

Why?

__

(don't let the claustrophobia get to you)

Why not?

__

(don't push your hands against the membrane above you)

But I must get out of here. I must get free.

__

(don't move or **they'll** see you and know you're not sleeping)

Who's They?

__

(**them**. the machines)

~~~

The tangle of cables begins to unwind as it reaches the tower, splitting into smaller strands and leading into the black wall like roots of a tree into the ground. Thinner and thinner, the vine sways further with every move she makes.

Nuala moves forward slowly, very, very carefully. She's balancing her weight over a cable as thin as her upper arm.

Freeze. There in front of her, one of the scuttling drones. Like a light grey spider the size of her head. It moves toward her, tiny claws in its feet hooking into the alloy.

She tries not to move. Her legs wrapped around the cable and crossed at the ankle, and her hands gripping it tightly, she ducks her head and holds her breath.

It crawls right over her. Sharp claws like the points of razorblades prick her through her clothes and she hopes the drone doesn't tear her backpack. Then, it's gone.

She relaxes.

And almost falls.

She swings under the cable, still with her knees hooked over it and her fingers grasping . . . pull up, grab! Wrap fingers tightly around that warm metal and plastic.

"Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn . . . " Nuala rolls her eyes at her own stupidity. How close is the tower now? She cranes her head back - it looks even weirder upside-down. Only a little further.

Moving like a monkey, Nuala continues on, feeling more than a little stupid.

~~~

He looks up through the murk. Beyond the immediate glow he can see nothing, only darkness. One would think this is a dream.

How long have I been here?

__

(years)

But wait, above. A shape. Something pale against the endless darkness.

Simon?

~~~

She clings to the side of the pod, gripping the slippery metal. Heat rises from the pink membrane covered bubble, making the air ripple around her. She tries to look down through the tangle of black cables surrounding the . . . person.

There's a person in there. Like the fields with rows upon rows of babies in artificial wombs, this is a person - a boy near her size.

Nuala looks up along to the next pod, and wonders how she didn't recognise the pale shape before. A person. In every one of these millions of pods. How many people are enslaved?

~~~

He strains to move

__

(don't move!)

reaching up his arms

__

(**they'll** see you!)

He pushes weakly against the surface.

Hands meet his. The figure above him tears apart the skin and reaches in to pull him up. Electric shocks of cold stun him, but he moves, raises his head. Somebody else's hands pull at the black pipe that reached down his throat. It comes out, and his air goes with it.

Waist deep in the slime he throws his head back, mouth wide open. He takes in a huge frozen breath, burning his lungs. AIR!

Nuala holds the boy up, sitting on the edge of the pod, her hands under his armpits. He's barely conscious, his eyes are half closed. Slime drips off his bald head, she tries to wipe some off his face.

Then, a rush of cold air. She turns her head, another machine. Larger than the drones, it hovers in front of them. With a snap legs unfurl, arms reach for the boy's neck. She grabs at it, tries to pull it off, but a claw reaches around the back of his head and unscrews the plug - the plug? And then as suddenly as it came, the machine goes.

The boy convulses as black cables begin to pop out of him. Nuala holds on, tries to hold him still, but he's slippery and his flailing pulls her into the pod with him.

He opens his eyes completely as he feels hands on him. When he is still he collapses against the person holding his head above the slime, weak and suddenly unable to move.

A sound. Behind him.

Then they're moving, sliding and slipping and surrounded by water and there's a hand holding his mouth closed and then they fall.

Submerge. Water, thick and greasy and freezing cold, over his head. Hands pull him up. He can't breathe. He feels himself pulled by an arm around his chest, and he tries to swim, kicking weakly.

Nuala drags him out of the water onto a narrow rock ledge. The boy is limp, still. Automatic responses come into play. Turn him on his side, tilt his head downward and clear the airway. Water trickles out of his mouth. Turn him on his back, listen and feel for breathing (try and ignore the fact he's naked). No breathing. Tilt his head back, pinch his nose and exhale into his mouth twice. Check for circulation. Thank God, the pulse is there. Continue with breathing.

A cough, he jerks underneath her. Nuala turns the boy onto his side again. He's covered in small metal circles, all down his spine and . . . everywhere.

He opens his eyes slowly. He's freezing. Rolling onto his back and staring up, he sees a face above him. A girl.

"Am I dead?" he manages to ask.

"You damn well better not be," the girl grins. It's so hazy, all he can see is a pale shape leaning over, close to him.

"What's your name boy?"

This isn't a dream. You've finally passed beyond the veil and into the next realm. Who are you?

He stares up at the girl.

"I can't remember."

"Try to."

Something like a memory comes to him. Something like a vision of the future.

__

A black bird soaring above the clouds, tearing the sky apart with its wings.

"Raven," it's little more than a whisper. He tries again. "My name is Raven."

Then it's all black.

~~~~~~~

I'm sorry this took so long to come, it wasn't easy to write.

The Latin translates into "I think, therefore I am." All hail Rene Descarte.

Also, I apologise for all the blood in this chapter. I think I've been reading too much Stephen King.


	7. Real World

Simon opens his eyes. Groggily he rolls over, a hand rising to wipe at his face.

"Kenny?"

Silence. He sits up, trying to fight through the haze of sleepiness.

"Ken?"

Nothing. The bed next to him is empty.

He slides of the narrow mattress, and walks slowly out of sickbay. The lady on the office's front desk turns around as he approaches.

"Simon, has Kenneth woken up?"

"He's not in there Miss. I thought he left already."

The secretary frowns. "He would have come through here, but he hasn't." Briskly she goes into the white room and looks for herself. "Odd."

It was as if he had just vanished. Simon felt something like a cool breath at the back of his neck.

__

(do you ever wonder if the world isn't real?)

No. It's not possible.

~~~

Nuala picks up the shirt. After spreading it out on the rock overnight, it's drier, but still damp. It's the only spare she has; it will have to do.

Looking across to where the boy, Raven, is sleeping, she gives him a grim smile. They're at least a 24 hour walk from Zion, but he can barely stand. It's a maximum of five degrees C, and all the clothes she has to give him are a shirt and a pair of trousers that will not be big enough.

Not to mention that she has no idea where they are. The closest she can guess is 'underground'.

__

(what were you thinking?)

Shut up. Things are bad enough without you.

She walks back over to Raven. Her jumper has been strategically placed over him but this is still rather awkward.

Here goes nothing.

She crouches beside him and touches his shoulder. "Hey. Wake up."

He makes a sound, his eyelids flutter -

"Raven."

- and open. Brown eyes search hers.

"I know you."

"I'm Nuala. Now come on, get up."

He raises himself up on his elbows, slowly. Every movement is slow, and appears painful. When he notices the dozens of metal holes on his arms and chest he raises his eyebrows, but doesn't comment. She has to help him, taking his hands and pulling him up, to his knees, to his feet. Once standing he doesn't move, just struggles to stay upright. He doesn't notice that the jumper has fallen. Nuala has to lead him to the ledge where she spread the clothes out to dry, and he sits.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly.

"It's alright. It's not your fault Raven."

"It hurts . . . " but that's the only complaint he makes.

Somehow she dresses him. Somehow she makes him drink a little water. Then she gets him up again, and with his arm around her shoulders and her arm around his waist, they walk in the only direction available to them, following the underground river downstream.

He asks no questions of her. Which is just as well, because she has no answers for him.

~~~

"People don't vanish. I've worked in the missing persons unit for fifteen years and I _know_ people don't vanish. There's always some evidence."

Simon tries not to yell. "Well officer, you've searched the whole school. You've interrogated every teacher and student who saw him today. So by now you should have some evidence, right? You should know what has happened to him."

"What exactly was your relationship with Mister Jackson?"

The boy stops, glaring. "He was my best friend. You can read that any way you want to."

With a frown the officer jots something on his notepad. "As you say Mister Walker, we _should_ have found some evidence by now. As we obviously haven't, one might conclude that evidence is being withheld."

"What are you saying officer?"

"You were the last person to talk with Mister Jackson. You were the last to see him. Surely you realise that makes you a very important person to us."

"I did nothing - "

"Don't be so quick Mister Walker. You may regret it later."

Simon clenched his hands so hard he thought his bones might snap.

"We'll be in touch."

And the police leave him sitting alone in the classroom. He bows his head, and silently begins to pray.

~~~

__

Several Days Later . . .

~~~

"Nuala?"

"Hmm?"

"When are we going to get to Zion?"

She looks over to him. Side by side they sit with their backs against the rock wall, resting after a day's walk. Raven is feeling stronger, and no longer needs to lean on her when he's on his feet. They've left the waterfall far behind, but the tunnel is still as large as it was when they first met it, the far side and roof fading into blackness. Something like pipes seem to line the walls at times, but it's too dark to tell.

"I'm not sure."

He looks away and stares at the running water. "There's barely any food left."

"Don't think about that. Talk about something else."

"Like?"

"How long were you in that pod?"

He breathes in slowly. "All my life. But I didn't know it until you came."

"What do you mean?"

"I was asleep. And I was dreaming."

"About what?"

"Being awake. I lived a life in there. I had parents, friends," he looks at her. "You probably don't believe me, but it was real. While I was in there, I knew it to be real."

"How do you know that this isn't the dream part?"

"I have a good imagination, but not even my mind could come up with this," he touches a metal ring.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course not. Nothing's for certain. The only thing you can know beyond a doubt is the fact that you doubt in the first place."

"_Cogito, ergo sum_," Nuala whispers softly. Raven looks up at her sharply. He stares, and she frowns, "What?"

"Nothing," he raises a hand to his eyes, wiping away tears. "It's nothing."

She is about to reply but stops, as she hears something. A rumble, like an engine.

"Oh no. Quick, get up!" She scrambles to her feet, grabbing her backpack and Raven's hand. "In here." They duck into a side passage, a narrow tunnel sloping up from the main one.

The rumble grows louder. Silent, they don't dare breathe. Louder, and louder, echoing off stone and water and distorting the sound.

A beam of light probes into the darkness, slicing it apart like a surgeon's knife. Nuala dares a peek around the corner, then she yells in surprise and joy.

"Yes!" she leaps out into the open, Raven following after a moment's hesitation. The girl stands on the narrow ledge beside the water, dancing and waving her arms.

"Skat! Skat!"

It's a ship. A huge thing of metal, covered in dirt and mud like camouflage. As high as a two story building, and three times as long, it hovers just above the greasy river.

Hovers?

A hatch opens low on the side and someone jumps out, just clearing the water. Nuala runs forward, throwing her arms around the newcomer. Raven follows her.

"Skat, you have no idea how happy we are to see you! Another day and our food would've been gone - "

"Whoa coz, slow down. You're alright now, it's all okay."

"I saved someone Skat, I really did! They said no one could, but I did!"

"What?" looking over her shoulder, the man sees Raven for the first time. "Who's this?"

"Oh, Skat, this is Raven. Raven, this is my cousin Skat."

"Hi." He sizes up the man. He's tall and lanky, with light brown hair and blue eyes, like Nuala.

"Hi. Uh," the man hesitates, then he shrugs. "Come on, you'd better come aboard. We've got to get back."

"Back where?" Raven hangs back.

"Zion my friend. Home of the brave and land of the free."

~~~

The ship seems even bigger on the inside. Raven stares, eyes wide as he tries to take everything in. He doesn't notice the other people appearing around him looking down at him over railings of catwalks and elevated walkways. At least until Nuala brushes at his arm, then she points his gaze up.

A young woman with a red ponytail swings over a rail and drops down in front of them.

"So what washed up this time Skat? Another stray?"

"Nuala said he's from the plant."

"No way." The woman laughs. The rest of the crew make derisive sounds.

"Really, he is," Nuala insists, her hand protective on Raven's shoulder. But none of the others seem like they're going to accept the story. Raven looks them over, noting the smooth skin of their bare arms, the back of the neck of a woman with a shaved head.

And he steps away from Nuala, then pulls off his shirt.

They stare. And he stares right back.

"I don't think they do body piercing quite like this," he says softly.

"Okay then," the redhead finds her voice first. "We believe you."

"Good," Raven shivers in the cold, feeling it go through him. And slowly he folds to his knees, feeling weak and dizzy.

Dimly he hears Nuala call his name, distantly he registers being lifted, and then he passes out. Again.

~~~~~

Okay, very short, but there'll be more soon. Promise.


	8. A Brief History of Time

"Where am I?"

"The Nebuchadnezzar, my cousin's ship, on the twenty-second of November 2105. And it's four in the morning if you must know."

"2105?" he struggles to sit up, blinking to focus on the girl beside his bed. "It's only 2005."

"2005 has been and gone Raven," Nuala stands up, raising her arms above her head to stretch. "You woke me up moron. Couldn't you regain consciousness at a normal hour? Like ten am?"

He lets his head fall back against the metal wall. "How did I miss a hundred years? Is this the future?"

"Maybe in your dream you were in the past," she sits back down on the crate near him, folding her arms around herself.

"Well, what's the world like here? Now?"

"Cold. We've lost most of the outer settlements, everyone's going back to Zion now. We're losing the war, some say. Skat won't admit it though. Stubborn bastard," her voice lilts sleepily.

"War?" Raven is wide awake. "Against who?"

"The machines."

He stares at her as he tries to piece it all together. "The machines control the power plant?"

"And everything on the surface. After they rebelled they built the plant and the fields. There are rumours of other plants further away from here, they're probably true."

"Rebelled?"

She rubs her eyes, giving up on sleep. "Humans created AI about a hundred years ago. But early in 2017 the first machine killed a human. We don't actually know what happened, the details were lost, but there's a story about a house-cleaning android that was going to be shut down because it was out of date. It killed its owner. So naturally there was panic, and people tried to . . . " she yawns, holding her hand over her mouth, "destroy the AI in one fell swoop. Which quickly led to an all out war."

"Like Terminator."

"Hmm?"

"Nothing, a movie I saw. What saved the humans?"

"Zion. It was founded in 2005 by some paranoid group who were convinced they'd be bombed off the face of the earth or that Armageddon was on the way. They dug out a very large shelter under Nebraska or somewhere, and over time it got bigger and deeper. When the war started the surface wasn't safe any more, so everyone went to ground. There were other places besides Zion at first, not as deep, so a lot of people survived. Then there was the second Big Bang."

"What?"

"They thought that it might help win the war by cutting off the AI's power supply. But the machines relied on solar power. So in 2052, a group based in Australia managed to blow up a volcano, In doing so they wiped out most of Indonesia."

Ken swallows. A brief history of the world . . .

"It's a bit like the dinosaur story, no one can figure out exactly what happed to make all the smoke and ash stay in the atmosphere and not dissipate. Some think it got through the hole in the ozone layer and just hung around, others say there was actually a meteor shower that caused the pollution, not the nuked volcano."

"It mustn't have worked in any case."

"Oh it did, the solar panels the cities used couldn't pick up anything. And it allowed us to start fighting back properly, not just hiding."

"But, what did they do for power?"

"They already had an alternate supply."

"From what?"

She looks at him closely, hesitating before answering. "We can't prove this you understand."

"Prove what?"

"There's a reason we call those towers the power plant."

His mouth opens, but he can't say anything.

"They use humans for power. Body heat, we suspect. They grow the babies then move them to the plant. For years Zionites have been trying to free them, but the fields are too closely guarded and the ones from the plant just die. Most think that it's impossible to free anyone, but somehow you got out. You just, woke up."

He looks at her, trying to find something solid in her eyes to grasp. "I'm the only one who's ever come out?"

"The only one who's survived so long."

He sits back against the wall.

"Can I ask you something Raven?"

" . . . yes."

"What happened to you? What was it that made you come out?"

"I dreamt. I realised I was dreaming. And I woke up," he turns back to her. "My life has been nothing more than a dream. But there were people in there that I knew and loved and I'm never going to see them again."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

She tries a smile but he doesn't return it.

"Try to sleep Raven."

He knows he can't, but he lies down anyway and closes his eyes.

~~~

"Morning."

Nuala sits up slowly as Bluey comes in.

"How is he?"

"Fine."

"Sleep through the night?" the red head looks over Raven with a critical eye.

"No, he woke up about 0400 and asked to be filled in on world history."

"How much did you tell him?"

"Not everything."

The boy sleeps on, curled into the corner like a child.

"Get him up, we'll see him in the galley."

~~~

"Hey sleepy head. How are you?" Skat grins as Raven follows Nuala through the door.

"Okay."

The other crewmembers offer brief greetings, but he feels their eyes linger on the plugs in his arms that are visible below his rolled up sleeves.

"You haven't met anyone yet," Skat jumps up from the table. Raven feels a little intimidated by the young man's boundless energy. "This is Bluey, she's my right arm," the red head nods. "That's Luther at the sink," a tall broad man with dark curly hair smiles across the room. "Impala," a young woman with a shaved head and brown eyes looks up at him. "And Sparrow," the last is a boy in his late teens with a dark blonde mohawk and tattoos chasing around the wiry muscles in his arms. He smiles warmly.

"So, um, what is it you guys do?" Raven sits down at the table.

"Rescue damsels in distress," Impala smirks. Nuala snatches up a utensil and makes as if to throw it at the woman but Sparrow plucks it from her hand with a laugh.

"We used to take supplies from Zion to some of the settlements further out," Skat gets a bowl of something from Luther and carries it across to Raven.

"Used to?"

"The Echo camp was razed a week ago."

For a moment there is no sound but of Bluey, Impala and Sparrow eating and Luther putting things away.

"I'm sorry," Raven murmurs.

"It's not like it's your fault kid," Skat shrugs, putting the bowl in front of the boy. "Things like that happen. Eat up."

He scoops some of the thin stuff, taking a quick mouthful and swallowing quickly.

"Brave move," Impala says, "but you _are_ allowed to gag."

"Um, what is it?"

"The essential stuff you need from food," Nuala explains, "made into a powder and then mixed with water. You've got the equivalent of a baked dinner in that little bowl."

"They don't make baked dinners any more," Sparrow stodges his own meal. Bluey keeps her head down as she eats, and Skat seems to have gone. "Do you have baked dinners where you come from, Raven?"

Suddenly all attention is on him. He realises they have no idea what his life was like, whether his mind was numb or awake or dreaming during his long sleep.

"I had everything where I came from."

"So, what were you thinking in there?" Sparrow continues the interrogation. Beside him, Nuala places her hand near his on the table, a silent offer.

"When I woke up it was the twentieth of November 2005. I was born in 1989, and for all that time I was living a life."

"You were asleep."

"I dreamt," without a word he takes Nuala's hand. "And if it wasn't real, it was at least a kind of real."

The others exchange glances. Bluey looks up from her plate and frowns at him.

"Does everyone in the plant dream?"

"Probably. Maybe we were all in the same dream."

"How did you wake up?"

"I don't know. I just did."

Somewhere above them an alarm rings, and a burst of static comes over an intercom.

__

- Luther! Get on deck and turn the power offline, we've got company -

The big man swings around the kitchen bench and goes for the door. Bluey is on her feet in a second, taking Raven by the elbow.

"Come on kid, you've got to be quiet now," the others follow close behind them as they clamber up a ladder to the deck. Raven tries to hurry, his arms feeling shaky from lack of use.

Luther is at a desk of controls, flicking switches and hammering buttons, his large fingers nimble. Bluey continues up another ladder to a catwalk, then hurries toward the front of the ship. Raven and Nuala follow a little slower, eventually reaching the cockpit.

Glass, or something like it, is a faint mirror in front of the pilot's seats. Lights and dials are reflected, and beyond Raven can see nothing but fog. Wreaths of grey and black surround them and hide any signs of movement.

"Luther, power down now!" Skat's voice is urgent into the microphone. Noticing the two behind him, he glances back. "Nuala, keep an eye on him."

Raven obediently stays quiet.

A faint sound, then all the lights die. Beyond the window it seems a little lighter.

Nuala folds her arms, cold. Raven shivers.

A shadow.

"Don't move," Bluey whispers from beside the captain. There is silence throughout the ship, and Raven hardly dares breathe.

A shape forms. Like some primitive octopus built by someone who only vaguely knew what it should look like. Swimming through the mist, it hovers for a moment, but passes by without seeming to notice them.

There is more than one. A second comes by, closer to them, and Raven can see it better. Long tentacles trail behind it, and there is only a faint humming sound as the machine flies past the ship without hesitation.

Still nobody moves.

After a long silence Bluey murmurs, "Were there only two?"

"I think so. Luther," Skat lifted the mike, "Get the bridge online." A few lights flicker on, the essential instruments. Skat looks at the radar, adjusts something and rereads it. "That's it. There's no more."

"What were they?" Raven asks.

"We call them sentinels," Bluey turns around. "There're different types, but those ones are the newest. Squiddies. In the 2060s the machines began building a bigger army. Nothing can destroy them but an EMP, and only if they're in range."

Raven folds his arms inside the sleeves of his hand-me-down sweater.

At war with machines that are that big, that powerful . . . this is worse than Terminator.

This is real.

~~~~~

For those of you who may be confused about the ships, I've a little known fact to tell you. Morpheus' Neb isn't the first. The plaque seen in the movie is from Skat's ship that was built in 2069, and Morpheus' ship was built from its remains. I probably shouldn't have told you that, but I either spoiled the story or confused people.

So just know that there aren't any 'dentist chairs' on this ship. They aren't invented yet.


	9. Zion

Hands shake him, and Raven turns his head away from the light.

"Wake up stupid."

"Wha . . . ?"

"You have to get up now. We're docking."

"Docking?"

Nuala rips the blankets off him and retreats to the door as he reaches for them.

"Get up, brush your teeth, then come to the lower deck. Within half an hour we'll be in Zion."

~~~

For a split second there is silence. After the constant hum of engine has stopped, the quiet rings in his ears.

Then, Sparrow grins. "Hear that?"

Raven listens. Through the hull, a sound he thought he'd never hear again.

"Voices!"

Skat drops through the hatch, closely followed by Bluey, Impala, Luther and Sparrow. Nuala steadies Raven with a hand on his arm before jumping down herself.

Dirt. His boots scuff up dust. Something natural. Nuala leads him out from under the ship and into the open. Very slowly he looks up.

Levels upon levels rise up into darkness, the atrium spanned by bridges and catwalks. People are everywhere, talking, laughing, hurrying, working. As Raven follows his crew through the throng, children bump into him and continue, laughing as they play.

Nuala smiles. "Welcome to Zion."

He just stares around him, not noticing the looks people give his plugs. They all look much the same to him, all dressed in greys and browns, all with dull natural hair colours, all with a purpose and a task at hand.

"Skat! Hast du unser Verabredung vergessen?" a voice calls.

The captain waves and calls back, "Nein, ich könnte Sie Morgen sehen, ja?"

"Ja. Tschüs!"

Impala laughs at Raven's befuddled expression. "It's a very multicultural city. Just about every race, creed, culture, whatever, has been concentrated into this one little place."

"How does everyone understand each other?"

"They speak sign language."

Two women seem to be arguing in what could be Arabic off to his right, and Raven can hear what sounds faintly like Japanese from the level above him. A headache is beginning to throb in his temples, and dizziness threatens to tip him over.

"Where're we going?" he asks Nuala.

"To report you. It's not everyday we get a power-plant escapee in Zion."

~~~

Nuala listens closely, trying to hear what's happening inside the office without appearing obvious. Beside her Raven fidgets, pulling at threads in his sleeve.

The door opens suddenly, and Skat, Bluey and the Zion official come into the waiting room.

"Would you two come with me please?" the official, Anguine, beckons to Raven and Nuala. They stand, and Raven glances over his shoulder at the crew behind him. Skat looks worried.

~~~

"Where exactly are you from, Raven?"

"Uh, the power plant."

"The power plant."

"Yes."

"Is this where you found him, Nuala?"

"Yes ma'am."

"And you expect me to believe this story?"

Raven nods. Nuala studies the dented steel desktop.

"Have you got any proof at all?"

In answer, Raven pulls up his sleeve. Fluoro lights catch and reflect off the metal rings in his forearm.

Anguine barely blinks. "They do match the sockets found in the specimens from the fields," she murmurs. Looking up she says louder, "I'll discuss this with my colleagues. Be back here by 1600 hours."

"Yes ma'am."

~~~

"There's someone Skat thinks you should meet."

"Who?"

Nuala doesn't answer. Raven has no choice but to follow her up level after level, through narrow sloping passages. Small children in doorways look up at him with huge eyes and one little girl trots after him, reaching for his hand. When she sees the rings set into the muscles of his wrist, her mouth drops open and she draws away from him quickly.

"In here," Nuala stops, drawing a ragged curtain aside for him. Raven ducks through the entrance, trying to see something in the dark.

"Who is it?" a harsh voice whispers.

"Just me," Nuala says as she follows Raven in. "And I've brought a friend."

"Oooh, visitors. I hardly ever get visitors. Come closer child, closer."

He can barely make out the shape of a person hunched, wrapped in blankets. Raven decides, from the sound of the voice, that the stranger is male, and old. A thin hand reaches for him, shaking, and Raven carefully takes it. Fingers trace the lines of his sinews and veins, then reach the plug in his forearm. Unlike the little girl, this person doesn't let him go.

"Ah. Now _that's_ interesting. Who are you my boy, what's your name?"

"Raven."

There is a long pause.

"You're marked . . . " a thumb presses against the metal, involuntarily Raven's fingers curl shut. "You're scarred boy, scarred by Their grip upon you . . . "

Raven looks at Nuala beside him, taps her arm to ask a question.

"This is Tristan," she murmurs. "He was taken from the fields years ago."

"The fields?"

"Yes," the voice cracks in what could be a laugh. "You and I are more alike than you'd like to think, my little refugee."

"How?"

"Nuala, Turn the light on will you?"

She hesitates, then crosses to the doorway and flicks a switch.

White floods into his eyes, and Raven blinks, dazzled. When he can see he looks at the figure in the bed.

The man is not nearly as old as he thought. But he's shrunken, and pale. One hand grips Raven's arm, but the other is resting on the blanket, shaking. Thin hair flops limply over the drawn, lined face. Shining stark against the paper-like skin of his arms, plugs reflect the light.

"I'm an example of how people shouldn't be freed. After being unplugged from the fields, I was kept alive. I shouldn't have been. Can you put the light out now?"

Nuala flicks the switch again. Raven carefully sits down on the bed.

"How old are you?"

"I'm an old, old man my boy. Nineteen. I'm far too old to be allowed any more."

Raven frowns. This guy sounds more than slightly crazy.

"So," the pale shape that is Tristan's face turns to him. "You've survived it all. You got out of the plant."

"Yeah."

"Tell me a story won't you? What was it like in there?"

"Can I ask you something first?"

A consideration, then a slow "All-right."

"You know much history?"

"Too much."

"What was this world like in the year 2000?"

"People lived on the surface. There were no machines. Children grew up safe and had enough to eat. They learned useless things in school because they didn't have to learn how to survive."

"Don't forget money," added Nuala.

"Why do you ask, my studded refugee?"

"I think," Raven says slowly, "that the world I came from is like how this world used to be. And I dreamed it."

"Dreamed?"

"Yes."

"Tell me," he can make out Tristan tilting his head to one side. One bony hand still holds Raven's wrist. "Could you do whatever you wanted to do in this world? Because in some dreams you can."

"No, I don't think so. But then, I never tried."

"Why not?"

"Well, people can't fly. So I never tried to fly."

"But if it's a dream you might be able to."

"I can't know now can I?"

"Maybe you're wrong."

None of them move. Tristan smiles slowly, exposing the sharpest canine teeth Raven has ever seen.

"How were you held in this dream? Curled up in a ball, surrounded by red . . . studded, my little refugee, studded with . . . ?"

"Cables. Black cables."

The hand that grips his wrist moves, trailing cold fingers up his arm, across his shoulder and around his neck. Tristan leans forward, pale eyes intense in the darkness as he traces the circle of the plug in the back of Raven's head with his middle finger.

"And what was here?"

"A cable. A . . . jack. Like something you'd put in the back of a computer."

"A jack? And where did it lead to?"

The movement of Tristan's hand massaging his neck is relaxing, and the boy finds his eyes drifting shut. Nuala is out of his line of sight, not saying a word.

"The tower. It led to the tower. All the cables did."

Tristan's other hand lifts his chin, keeping him semi-alert. "This tower . . . hummed?"

"As if alive."

"Alive. As if alive. As if possessing a consciousness all of its own . . . "

" . . . yes."

__

(alive. **they're** alive, in **their** way)

"And They watched you in there, didn't they? That dream . . . it has a name . . . "

__

(don't move or **they'll** see you and know you're not sleeping)

Who's They?

__

(**them**. the machines)

" . . . yes."

"Do you know its name?"

__

(something that right now is far beyond your grasp)

"I . . . think . . . "

"Do you remember, Raven?"

__

(something like a memory . . . something like a vision of the future)

And his voice, when he speaks, is strong and clear.

"The Matrix."

~~~~~

This story is proving my hardest to write yet! Sorry about the time between updates.


	10. Conclusions

"We've discussed your claim, and after considerable debate we have concluded that it is credible."

"You believe me then?"

Anguine inhales. "Yes. We believe you."

"Good. So, what do I do now?"

"Do?" The official raises her eyebrows. "Whatever you wish. After delivering a written statement to this counsel, of course."

"Statement about what?"

"To be blunt, to tell us what you experienced while in the power plant."

"Okay."

~~~

They sit him down at a computer, pulling a keyboard toward him. The screen is black, its casing battered and dented. A lone white cursor blinks at him, waiting. He looks over the keyboard. Just the same. It could be a relic from his own life.

After a brief pause, he inhales and begins to type.

__

The world I came from is, I believe, the same as the real world at the turn of the century. The technology I remember is much the same as the technology described to me by Skat's crew, and Tristan who was taken from the fields; cars, electric trains, laptop computers, monorails, nuclear weapons etcetera. After viewing information about 1990 onwards in this world, I can say I'm certain that the world I dreamed in the power plant is modelled after the real world as it was approximately one hundred years ago.

"You want more?" he asks Anguine as she reads over his shoulder.

"Not for now."

~~~

Nuala taps on the wall next to his doorway.

"Come in."

She pulls the curtain aside and steps in. Raven lies back on the narrow bed, flicking through a worn out paperback with the cover missing.

"What're you reading?"

"Neuromancer. Skat gave it to me. You read it?"

"Yeah, he made me read it too. It's on his booklist."

"He has a booklist?"

"Since my parents died he kinda looks after me. Either that or I hang around the barracks here."

"Oh." He shuffles up, folding his legs and making room for her to sit. "I'm sorry."

"S'alright. It happened years ago," Nuala perches beside him. "Sentinels."

" . . . Oh."

"So now Skat tries to keep an eye on me. That includes teaching me how to read." She forces a smile; "I brought you a drink."

"Um, thanks," he accepts the metal canister, and takes a sip. He wrinkles his nose at the coppery taste. "It's warm water."

"Would you prefer it cold?"

Raven ducks his head. "Sorry. It must seem all I do is complain."

"It's not your fault. You didn't ask for this. You left your whole life behind, and from what you've said it didn't sound too bad."

"It wasn't bad, but I still wasn't happy with it. It wasn't real."

They sit in silence for a time. Raven passes the water back to Nuala and skims a few pages of the book. The paper is brittle and yellow, the glue in the spine cracked. It's a very old book.

"Hm," he says after a while. "Matrix . . . "

"Pardon?"

"In here," Raven traces a finger under the faded words as he reads aloud. "' . . . jacked into a custom cyberspace deck that projected his disembodied consciousness into the _consensual hallucination that was the Matrix_.' Consensual hallucination . . . like a mass dream?"

"If it's consensual it means you're willing to be in there."

"So it's not quite like the power plant." He fades out, going back to reading.

"Raven?"

"Hm?"

"Can you tell me what happened before? With Tristan? We were back with the officials so quick I didn't get to ask."

"I don't really remember. It's blurry."

"He was asking you about what it was like in the plant. He said the dream had a name."

Raven lowers the book, frowning thoughtfully.

"And then you said, the Matrix. Like it meant something."

"I did?"

"Yeah. Don't you remember?"

He doesn't answer, just looks back to the book in his hands like it holds some sort of truth.

~~~

' . . . and still he'd see the Matrix in his sleep, bright lattices of logic unfolding across that colourless void . . . '

Raven smooths the paper flat, running his fingers over the words again and again as if he can find understanding in them and let it seep into his skin.

It's just a book. It's just a story. It's just a coincidence that the words he said to Tristan mean so much in the context of the book's world.

Why had he said that? Of all the meaningless phrases his subconscious could spurt it had to be something that almost made sense. The Matrix . . . Matrix . . .

Raven clicks on the tiny light above his bed. The shadows retreat to the corners of the room, waiting for him to turn his back on them. He reaches for another book on the shelf, a dictionary. Skat seems determined to put him in the same category as Nuala, an orphan in need of copious amounts of reading material. He turns the pages slowly, resting the weight of the book evenly across his lap.

Matrix . . . he runs through the various definitions.

A mould in which a thing is cast or shaped. Perhaps.

An environment in which a thing is developed. That sounds uncomfortably like the power plant.

A womb? He swallows hard, remembering the pod.

A mass of fine grained rock - no.

A rectangular array in rows and columns treated as a single element. He tilts his head to one side. It calls something to mind, but he can't pin it down.

The substance between cells - no.

A gridlike array of interconnected circuit elements. That doesn't really sound right either.

He almost knows what it is. He's sure he's heard the term before.

__

(or will hear it)

Will hear it?

__

(something like a vision of the future)

He carefully replaces both books on the shelf, then lies down and flicks off the light. Immediate and total darkness.

Raven closes his eyes.

__

(remember?)

A black bird flying above a city. Between grey towers, over crisscross lines of streets choked with cars and people, swooping low then soaring up again. A feeling of being loose, cut from all things that tie him to the earth, a feeling of being free to climb as far as the sky goes.

Rain, cascading waterfalls of drop after drop after drop, falling and sliding and running in channels along the crevices in the walls of an old cathedral, rivulets tracing the contours of gargoyles, and hands against the stone. Rock against warm skin, texture of a silk-lined coat and the scent of thunder. Dark hair in his eyes, wet and curling against his neck.

Blink. The water runs green, luminescent and glowing bright and forming a web of lines, a tangle that makes sense to him, a system that tells stories only he can hear.

And although it hasn't happened yet, he remembers what this means.

Standing in the shadows of a belltower, like a raven watching the world, spreading his arms wide to feel the wind reaching for him, throwing his head back and calling for the lightening, and knowing that this dream will only ever be as real as he chooses to make it. Thunder roaring.

Alone in a storm.

And like in all the old stories, the knowledge of a being's true name will give you power over it.

Raven opens his eyes in the darkness of his room, and whispers the name of the dream.

"The Matrix."


	11. Decisions

"Um, Skat?"

"Yes?"

Nuala fiddles with the hem of her shirt. "Can I talk to you?"

"Sure coz. Sit down. You can give me a hand."

She obediently picks up a screwdriver, but doesn't move to use it. He pauses, looking up at her from the mess of wires tangled across the bench.

"What's the problem?"

"I'm . . . worried about Raven."

"Why?"

"I took him to see Tristan, like you suggested."

"Did Tristan freak him? It's hardly a rare occurrence."

"He did more than freak him. It's like . . . " she reaches for a half finished component and begins to reattach the casing. "He went all woozy. Tristan asked him about the plant, then was asking if he knew the name of the 'dream'. And then Raven said, the Matrix."

Skat wrinkles his nose. "The Matrix? What did he mean?"

"I don't know."

"Hm," Skat teases one strand of copper from the rest of the tangle as he thinks. "We don't have any runs to do for the next few weeks, so it might be best to just keep an eye on him here. Show him around."

"What if he goes funny again?"

"Get Luther to check him out. But I guess there's no knowing exactly what may happen."

~~~

Trying to find someone to talk to the next morning, the first person Raven comes across is Bluey. The redhead is alone at the table in the mess hall, methodically eating breakfast.

"Uh, hi."

She looks up briefly, nods, and then goes back to eating.

"Can I sit here?"

Another look up, another nod.

"Thanks."

He slides onto the bench beside her. She passes him a glance, then after a pause, a hard biscuit. "You haven't eaten have you?"

"Not yet."

"Why not?"

"I'm not really hungry."

"Doesn't matter. I'm never hungry. This stuff would kill any appetite. But I still eat it."

He shrugs, taking a hunk out of the hard brown biscuit. He tries not to grimace, and asks through a mouthful; "These aren't stale are they?"

"They don't go stale. It's much the same recipe as the stuff they fed the soldiers in World War One."

"They had some of those biscuits in the war memorial. They were eighty something years old and still in perfect condition."

"So make sure you chew those properly."

Raven looks back to the biscuit with a worried expression. "Right."

Bluey turns her head to him for a moment, as if weighing him up. Then she smiles and goes back to eating.

"When is the ship going out again?"

"Not for a while. There's no work that's not being done already. Why?"

"I wanted to go back to the plant," he says it all in one breath, staring at the dented tabletop.

"Why?"

"I, I want to see if I get back in."

"You've had your holiday and now you want to go home?"

"No," he shakes his head, glancing around him. No one else is in earshot. "It's what Tristan did, he asked if I could do whatever I wanted to in the Ma - the dream. I told him I never tried."

"What makes you think you can get back in, even if you can make it back to the plant itself?"

"I woke up didn't I? Maybe I can just go back to sleep."

She turns her shoulder, scraping the bottom of her bowl for the last dregs of gruel. "So if you get in, what are you going to do?"

He smiles before answering, "Fly."

~~~

"He wants to do what?"

Bluey calmly repeats herself. "He wants to go back to the plant."

Skat frowns at his second in command from behind his tiny desk. "Is the boy crazy?"

"I don't believe so."

"Maybe whatever Tristan has is contagious."

"Raven isn't crazy. I've never seen anyone so dead serious before in my life."

"Why does he want to go back?"

"He wants to see if he can get back into the plant, into a pod. He said he wants to see if he can dream again."

"In the Matrix."

"Did he call the dream that?"

"According to Nuala, yeah."

Bluey says nothing, just waits as Skat rakes fingers through dark hair. After a pause he looks up at her again.

"What outpost is closest to where we found them?"

"Echo."

"What outpost that's still inhabited."

"Opera. Why?"

Skat ducks his head, leaning elbows on the metal table. "They'd be in need of a supply run, wouldn't they? Or a change in crew?"

"Last time we ran through Mirror mentioned something about more blankets. They're the closest settlement to the surface now, and it's freezing up there."

"That'll do."

Bluey places her hands on the desk, shifting her weight forward. "You mean to let him go back to the plant?"

"What's your opinion then, if mine's so stupid?" Skat flicks hair out of his eyes and glares at her.

"It's not my place to have an opinion, _captain_. All I'm saying is that this could either be a momentous leap forward in our chances of winning the war, or suicide."

He stands up, folding his arms. "Blue. I know the dangers involved in any supply run are doubled by going up to Opera. But this might just be worth it, even if the kid is insane."

"Raven is not crazy," she insists quietly, stepping around his desk. "I think he knows exactly what he's doing with going back to the plant."

Skat relaxes a little, smiles when he says, "I thought you didn't have an opinion on this?"

She shrugs. "You need my opinion right now."

A short lil filler chapter. Sorry.


	12. Papercut

"The sun goes down; I feel the light betray me."

Simon walks, his footsteps echoing off cold brick walls and unfeeling concrete. The rain falls reluctantly, forming slow puddles in the gutter.

He looks up, almost as if searching the leaden sky for answers.

Where has Kenneth gone? It's been weeks since his disappearance, and the police have finally given up on Simon having any information on where Ken might be. He's spoken to his friend's mother, but there was nothing more to give than the same empty comfort he'd been offered by his old friends.

As for his own family, Simon tries to avoid going home. There is nothing there for him. His father is overly cheerful these days, trying to distract him with movies, presents, trips away for the weekend. His mother however, understands the true reason for Simon's silence, and her mute acceptance is more than he can take.

And even the sky has nothing to tell him. Or perhaps it is simply keeping secrets from him. Simon looks down, letting his wet hair drip water along his neck and under his collar. His overcoat collar. Ken had always smiled when Simon wore this jacket, joking about how it actually gave him shoulders.

Ken. Ken's laugh, his infectious grin. The look he'd get when he was writing, the way he'd tilt his head and frown just a little in concentration.

Simon halts, finding shelter in the park's lonely gazebo. He sinks to the tiled floor, his hands falling to his lap and his back curving as if under strain. Not all the water that runs down his skin is without salt.

~~~

Raven pauses. Behind him, he hears Nuala sigh in exasperation.

"If you even consider having second thoughts now – "

"No, it's alright," he cuts her off, adjusting the straps of his pack as an excuse.

"You sure?"

"I'm fine." To prove it, he continues walking up the steep path of the tunnel. Ahead of him is Luther, right behind Skat. Bluey is at the rear behind Nuala. Sparrow and Impala are back on the ship.

Raven keeps his eyes on his feet, letting his mind take a detour. What had stopped him short like that?

_(Simon)_

What about him? He was back in the dream.

_(you're going back there now. you might even see him again)_

Where is he?

_(rain . . . tiles . . . unfeeling concrete and long dead timbers . . . )_

"Raven."

He starts, looking up ahead of him. Luther is holding out a hand, offering help to climb up through a hole in the upper edge of the pipe. He blinks, then carefully responds.

Now is not the time to dream. That time will come soon enough. When they reach the surface. When they find an empty pod.

Skat takes Raven's other hand, hauling him up into the higher tunnel. When Luther reaches down to help up Nuala, Skat pulls Raven aside.

"We can only let one person go into the plant with you. I would, but I can't."

"Can't?"

"I'm the captain. If anything should happen and we can't return from the plant, what would happen to the ship? I'm loath to agree but Bluey always says a crew can't lose a captain."

"Oh," he tries to look like he's considered the dangers before asking for this mission. It actually never occurred to him that he may not return to Zion alive. "So who will come with me?"

"Nuala has volunteered."

Nuala. Of course.

"It's up to you at the end. Luther my be more useful when it comes to strength, but Nuala has been to the plant before, and – "

"She got me out of there alive once, she can do it again I'm sure."

Skat smiles thinly. "You try and keep your arse and hers out of trouble alright? She's never been this stupid for anyone before and I'm not sure why she is now."

The sudden rebuke throws Raven off track. Still half dreaming, his eyes slip past the captain to the young girl behind him, her pale hair and skin blurred in the half dark.

"Raven?"

"Yes sir. I'll be as careful as I can afford to be."

~~~

It's cold up on the surface. A dull wind blows, chilling them in slow shivers. Raven tugs the scarf around his neck a little tighter. Nuala touches his arm, directing his attention upwards.

The plant looms above them. It's a sight quite beyond Raven's description. The only word that comes to his mind is, immense.

"Christ," he whispers, the utterance more a plea than a curse.

"Something like that," Nuala forces a smile. "If we just keep walking, we can get in close to the bottom of a tower. The pods must go all the way down to the ground."

Raven nods, not pausing in his stride. He knows, from what Impala has told him, that Nuala climbed to find him in the plant. But in his state, still weak, he would not be able to climb as she had.

So their only hope is that there is an empty pod close enough to the ground.

~~~

"One of these days, you know, you're going to run out of dumb luck."

He throws her a grin, stifling his fear. "In the meantime Nuala, let's just be grateful."

Three metres above them, the lowest level of pods sprout from the tower wall. A mesh of cables, metal and wire tear up the ground like tree roots, reaching out from the tower's base in a wide circle. Directly up, Raven can see the dim light shining through an as yet empty pod.

Nuala laces her hands into a stirrup and holds it under his foot, hefting him up to reach a loop of black. He swears at the warmth of it.

"I thought it would be cold."

"It's not," her words are short. She's as scared as he is. "Keep moving."

Muscles almost vibrate under the strain as Raven hauls his slight weight up, finding hand and footholds in the lacework of the tower. The pulsing heat of it makes him want to retch.

_(remember Simon. remember why you're doing this)_

His fingers clench on the edge of the pod. Metal and membrane, he can't begin to think what this is made from. He tries to find a foothold, but slips, and finds himself hanging over nothing, legs kicking weakly.

"Hold still Raven, let me catch your foot."

Nuala is there, her hands under his boots, guiding them to a place to stand. With a push, he drags himself into the pod, the scarf tangling around his neck. His breathing harsh, Raven gets to his knees and reaches to help Nuala over the edge.

"There has to be an easier way to do this," she sighs, curling beside him in the oddly shaped space.

"Like what?" his voice shakes like his hands.

"I don't know. Maybe like they used to tap phone lines."

"Zion doesn't have phones."

"We do so. But I meant like in the really old movies. When someone did something wrong, and they were watched by the, what were they called . . . ?"

"CIA?"

"Or something."

"You think you could hack the powerplant's line?"

"Maybe. We don't even know how they connect you to whatever you dream, so maybe it's impossible. But that's why we're here to find out."

She reaches past him, fingers searching around the hole in the back of the pod, looking for cables. He shuffles out of her way, trying to stop his shivering.

"Here," her voice is low. Raven looks down at the object in her hand, a long spike like the metal tongue of some alloy black snake. He runs a hand along it, shuddering involuntarily at the chill of it. Unlike the warm fog around them, this is icy cold.

"Slide it into my head, and screw it in clockwise."

She swallows. He knows his voice has changed. But he knows what has to be done now. At the sight of this, memories that have not yet happened flood through his head, and he knows how it will feel. How it has to work.

"Turn around," she says, and he does so, lying back a little, propped up by his pack and her arm. She breathes in, and carefully inserts the . . . jack.

There's a hum. Static. Data flows like lifeblood a little beyond his reach. Why? He's listing to the real, that's why. He needs to give in, to give up to the lies buzzing through the cold spike in his head. Raven turns his eyes to Nuala, looking up at her. She holds him carefully, scared beyond reason. Above her, there's a haze of red, mind after mind enslaved and dreaming. To wake them he must first return among them.

He closes his eyes, reaching for a place, an anchor in the maelstrom of information.

_(Simon)_

_Where? Where can I find him?_

_(rain . . . grass . . . the park, the gazebo where you knew him as a child)_

Raven gives in to it, letting the white noise wash over him like ocean waves, like sheets of rain, like long grass rippled by the wind in a storm.

A boy huddles in the relative dry of the gazebo, hunched and shivering in his black coat. Simon's favourite overcoat.

Raven stands there, in the rain, letting the water slick through his hair and down his neck. He's in his school uniform, wearing what he was when he'd left. The white polyester clings to his skin.

He inhales. Wet concrete and earth. He's missed this place.

"Simon."

A hitch in breathing, a pause, a slow turn of the head. The boy looks up, blue eyes wide.

" . . . Ken?"

Raven blinks. He'd forgotten that name.

Then Simon is up and running and throwing arms around him, crying on his shoulder.

"Where have you _been_?"

"Outside this place."

"What do you mean?" the shorter boy pulls back, wiping hair out of his eyes. "What do you mean outside?"

"Simon," Raven smiles. "Remember how I asked if you ever thought this world isn't real? Well, I know now. It's not. There's more."

"More?"

"You're dreaming. This whole place, the city and everything beyond it, is nothing more than an illusion."

"Ken, what are you talking about?"

"The _real_. Back in the sick bay, I fell asleep, and I woke up outside. I _woke up_."

Simon frowns, reaching to catch Raven's hand. "But you're here now, that's all that's important, right?"

"No," Raven shakes his head. Above the clouds, thunder rolls. "It's a world out there, with people and families and everything. And they're at war. The machines are holding us, this place, in a dream, keeping you all under control. It's a power plant Simon, where they keep the bodies."

"Ken, you're talking nonsense. You ran away for a while, right? To get a break. It was school, it was the exams, the stress got to you, that's all."

Raven pulled Simon close again, one hand in his and the other closed on his shoulder.

"What do I have to do to make you believe me?"

"I believe you – "

"No. you don't."

"Ken, you just up and left! The police were at school, everyone was chasing me to find out where you'd gone, but I didn't know, no one knew, no one . . . knew . . . "

The boy falls against Raven's shoulder, hiding his face as he cries.

"Simon . . . " Raven holds his friend up, arms wrapped carefully. "Simon, tell me, what do you dream?"

Breath hitches. The rain continues to fall, persistent. The thunder is a little louder, growling as if able to sense the ripples in its world.

"I dream . . . "

"You dream of flight."

Simon raises his head, opening his eyes slowly.

"How do you know?"

"I know. I can read you here."

"What?"

Raven lifts a hand, tapping Simon under the chin. "I told you already. This isn't real. It's a dream, and in dreams you can do whatever you want."

~~~

Nuala tenses as Raven's head moves, tilting back. His lips part, and his hands, wrapped in rags against the cold, grasp at the air.

Yet there's no fear in the motion, no panic. He's dreaming pleasant things.

She settles him against her again, brushing cold fingers across his cheek.

~~~

The rain is cold, turning icy against their skin with the movement of air. Simon clenches white polyester in his hands, clinging to Raven as tightly as Raven holds him.

"How on earth?"

Raven laughs, letting his head fall back and his hair blow away from his face as they rush up, away from the grass and the trees and the old lonely gazebo in the park.

"How is this possible?" Simon's voice is no longer frightened, but fast and excited. "This can't be _real_ Ken!"

"Of course it isn't," Raven dares a twirl, spinning like he's dancing in the air. "It's all a dream Simon, all a dream."

"So how do I wake up?"

Raven slows, hovering as the rain drips from the soles of their shoes, and curls the ends of Simon's hair.

"I'm not so sure how. I dreamed awake. Maybe if I do it again I can bring you with me."

Simon, feeling gravity creeping at the hem of his drenched coat, rests his feet on the top of Raven's.

"What other way is there? Just try it."

"Alright," they descend, slowly, Raven carefully settling them in the grass. "Don't let go of me, okay? When I go I'll try hold you, but I don't know if I can."

"If it doesn't work, you'll come back, right?"

Raven smiles. "Maybe not right away, but I will."

"Alright then. Go for it."

Raven bows his head, resting it on the other boy's shoulder. His closes his eyes, feeling water slide over the lids, and breathes in.

The static is in his head again. The tumult of information surging through him, a million lies told with every beat of this heart which isn't there.

What's he looking for? Truth.

Nuala. 

But instead of waking up in her arms, red floods into Raven's vision. The rain is gone, the park is gone, the thunder has slowed to a thick, rhythmic pulse. Heartbeat. Simon's heart.

He pulls away, opening his eyes and letting go of shoulders that have faded to nothing.

"Raven, are you alright?"

"Simon."

"What?"

"Simon's awake, but I don't know where he is."

She helps him sit up, keeping hold of his arms. "Tell me what we need to do."

"Radio the ship, tell them to get to the sewer."

"Where we came out in the water?"

"Yes."

One hand goes for the radio at her belt, thumbing a switch. Raven hunches over, clutching his hands to his head.

"Sparrow. Follow the sewer line up to a dead end, there's someone in the water you need to pick up. No, don't wait for us to get back, you have to get to – dammit Sparrow, I don't care!" she thumbs the radio off, bowing her head against Raven's. "They won't listen."

"Here," he forces stiff limbs to move, fumbling at the mouth of the pod for something. "Tell them they have to get to the sewer, 'cause we'll be there as well."

She does so, yelling at Impala through the tinny speaker. Before either of their crew have a chance to respond, Raven hits a catch in the wall and the door opens and they're slipping, gaining speed as they join the waste water, slamming against the walls of the tunnel as they slide and then they're falling, packs and radio and all, and again Nuala pulls Raven to the edge of the water.

"Where's Simon?"

Raven doesn't answer, he's already dropped his pack and outer gear and is jumping back in, and remembering now how one arm reaches before another, how to kick and how to stay up in the deep. He grasps, loses grip, and has to duck under the surface and almost dive to catch a pale hand.

~~~

When the ship rumbles up the tunnel, slow and careful, Nuala and Raven are on the bank, sorting out the less soaked items of clothing and bundling up Simon.

"Who's this?" Skat asks, folding his arms and looking down.

"Simon."

"And what exactly, do you think you've achieved by getting us another scrawny kid for the ship?"

Nuala's mouth falls open, stunned, but Raven only wraps an arm around narrow shoulders and smiles up at the captain.

"I'll tell you what I'm achieving here. I'm winning you the bloody war."


End file.
